


Of Different Words

by lordvoldemortsnipple



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Canon verse, Cultural Differences, Get Together, M/M, Thilbo, bagginshield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5226452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordvoldemortsnipple/pseuds/lordvoldemortsnipple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that Bilbo is very cross for not getting to learn khuzdul, but that doesn't mean Thorin can go around speaking it without Bilbo wanting to understand it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Different Words

Bilbo had always been fond of languages and despite what the dwarrows thought of it, what the other hobbits thought of it, there was nothing wrong in learning Sindarin, which also happened to be very useful for the situation he currently found himself in. And if there was one thing Bilbo found himself eager to learn concerning dwarrow culture, it was their language. It wasn’t his fault they were secretive and rarely gave him a chance to even listen to it at all, much less start picking up on what they said. In fact, the first time Bilbo heard more than a few words of khuzdul (from someone other than Bifur, but then not even all dwarrows understood him anyway) was in Mirkwood, after sneaking into the elf realm after the captured dwarrows. 

Bilbo had been searching for longer than he thought he would have to find all the dwarrows in Thranduil’s dungeons. Most of them had been easily found, one after another, and then all at once, like one night many months ago when the Company had shown up unexpectedly to his home. Once again, Thorin was late to join the party.

Bilbo didn’t quite enjoy walking around wearing his magical ring, the whole mess left him in a quite sour mood. It wasn’t awful, and for small timed things such as running away from Gollum or fighting the spiders it was almost pleasant, but he felt  drained after having worn it for so long, and he supposed that every good thing had its downside. 

He was playing with the ring, turning it around his finger, when he heard Thorin, loud and clear, his voice angry as it echoed through the halls. He ran towards it, not understanding words just yet, only hearing the angry and demanding tone they carried, spoken like a king. Well, a king declaring war.

He dodged some elves who turned towards the commotion, and stopped only when he saw Thorin, bloodied and wild, his hair flying as he struggled against the hold of the guards, and now Bilbo could see why didn’t he understand what Thorin had been saying – he was speaking in that funny language those dwarrows had, and Bilbo didn’t know a single word.

He followed the three of them quietly, passing the corridor that led to where the other dwarrows were held. Bilbo  recognized it, having been there on many ocassions himself looking for their king. Thorin knew now too, because in reply to his booming shouts there came the sound of defiant cheering  from the rest of his company. Knowing that they were safe and well seemed to calm Thorin down considerably. despite the look on his face, because he went quiet, looking over his shoulder to the passage with a frown, deep in thought.

“We’re never going to get out,” Bilbo heard Balin sigh as he passed by. Bilbo frowned, what would be the point in leaving his comfortable home only to get stuck in the dark dungeons of Mirkwood? No, that wouldn’t do at all.

Thorin viciously struggled against the hold of his guard then, and Bilbo wasn’t quite sure whether to feel  proud for or exasperated at Thorin, when he managed to get an arm loose to elbow one of the elves in the groin then stomping the other’s foot. Bilbo found himself hurrying just in case the dwarf actually managed to get the upper hand and they got a shot of just… fighting their way out, as Thorin obviously seemed to intent on doing, but he hadn’t given two steps before the guards had him under control again, and on the fifth step, they had hauled him behind bars, and locked him up.

Thorin stood up, holding one’s gaze with murder in his eyes, almost touching the bars, as the other went inside and removed the handcuffs. Thorin moved swiftly, turning to the guard and aiming a punch at him, but his fist hit the air alone, the guard already out of the prison and locking the door.

As they passed by, Bilbo extended his leg just enough for the closest guard to trip on his foot.

He waited for them to leave, lingering a few extra moments after, just to be sure no one was around, before he removed the ring. A wave of relief washed over him when color bled back into his vision, as he slipped the golden loop off his finger. A vast improvement over the the cold and colorless world he lived in while wearing it, like leaving a stale room and feel the fresh air outside.

He stumbled a bit when he rushed to the cell, his hands grasping at the bars as he looked in. “Thorin.”

Thorin sat against the wall at the back the cell where he had retreated to when the guards had thrown him in. His head snapped up when Bilbo called him by name, his eyes widening a little as he saw him, his lips parting, and got up, going towards him.

“Master Burglar,” he said warmly, standing in front of him, the best he could, his eyes on him to take in his condition, and yet soft as they rest on his face, and Bilbo shifted his weight a bit, reminded of the way Thorin had looked at him after that hug in Carrock, and then of the hug itself, and he lowered his eyes for a moment, before raising them back at him. “I am glad to see you’re still among us living, and even gladder than you’re not imprisoned.”

“Yes, well.” Bilbo shifted his weight a bit, “I didn’t really agree with the funeral arrangements you have set for me in my contract, so I’m doing my best to avoid that part, thank you very much.” 

Thorin didn’t quite smile as his shoulders shock a little with a laugh under his breath, rumbling through him and making Bilbo quite pleased with himself, before Thorin looked at him again, serious now, as he moved a hand between two bars and touched the dried blood on the side of Bilbo’s head, and he said another word in khuzdul, muttered under his breath with a bit of annoyance in the tone, but heard by Bilbo all the same, in the quiet of halls.

“Oh,” Bilbo said, tilting his head slightly to lean to the touch, his eyes on Thorin’s, “that- that’s not mine. One of the spiders.”

“It has been days, Master Baggins,” Thorin said, slowly withdrawing his hand, a smile tugging on his lips. “I would have thought you’d try to be clean and proper.” 

“I have been rather busy, I’ll have you know,” Bilbo said, pointing a finger at him for a moment, “you have been very hard to find.”

“My apologies.” Thorin bowed his head a bit.

“Oh, hush,” Bilbo said, smiling a little as he saw Thorin doing the same, hiding it with a tilt of his head. “And I have been working on a plan to get us out.”

Thorin’s hand curled on the bar, as he leaned closer. “Tell me, what is this plan of yours?”

His plan, made up from pieces of information he gathered from listening the elves talking, and from his wandering around, looking for his friends and for some food he could find, was still in the makings. He needed a few more days to work it through, and a few more for the perfect moment to pull it through.

And it wasn’t a pleasant plan by any means, and Bilbo was terribly afraid of drowning, but at least he didn’t get any elves jumping on his head as they shot arrows against orcs, so that was something.

And well, it was sort of nice, the way Thorin called him by his first name, as he got back into the water to help Bilbo get to the shore, when it was all done, the strong grip on his arm, and the warm hand on his lower back pulling him along.

They walked along side the river, towards Lake Town, and that night by the fire, Bilbo sighed as he pulled out his vest. The poor thing had some missing buttons, some cuts, and even though it was still completely drenched from the river, it still had spots marked with spider blood on it.

Dwalin heaved down next to him, the log they were sitting on trembling slightly at the added weight, and he muttered some foul sounding words in khuzdul, as he pulled off his boots.

Bilbo prided himself in being a quick learner, and on his interest in languages, and all this khuzdul nonsense was starting to get to him. He had spent some time, as he moved through the hallways in Mirkwood,murmuring the word Thorin had said upon seeing the blood in his face, because it sounded rather like a disagreeable word, although not quite as harsh as whatever Dwalin was letting out at the moment.

He hesitated, before sighing, as a finger went through a hole in his jacket, and let it out in annoyance. And it did feel good, the thought of saying a curse word in another language, and then he berated himself for it. He wasn’t a child, after all!

Dwalin paused, holding out a boot close to the fire, and looked at him with a frown. “…what was that, Burglar?”

“Oh, did I not say it right?” Bilbo said, looking at him.

“Nah, that was alright,” Dwalin frowned at the vest, and then at Bilbo, “…that thing means that much to you?”

“Well, it was a very nice vest, a few months ago” Bilbo said, and then frowned a little as well, realizing how reckless he had been, saying words he didn’t know the meaning of! “...I hope what I said wasn’t to crude.” 

“Crude?” Dwalin let out a laugh, hoarse, which made Bilbo feel very small. “Where did you heard that?”

“I…” Bilbo shut his mouth firmly, now unsure if he should give out that information at all. “what did I say?”

“Certainly not a curse word.”

“Oh.” Bilbo said, and his eyes moved across the camp, towards Thorin, who was surrounded by his nephews.

“…Oh, I see.”

And Bilbo couldn’t help but to blush, under the smug weight on Dwalin’s tone.

“So... hm, what does it mean, exactly?”

“Khuzdul is a secret language, lad,” Dwalin said, putting down the boot, and Bilbo thought he had no right to sound so pleased, “you should ask Thorin if you want to learn it.”

But Bilbo didn’t. He considered himself a brave hobbit in many ways, but going up to Thorin and asking for a private conversation over a word he probably shouldn’t have heard at all wasn’t one of them. No, he didn’t quite have the courage to pull Thorin away from his nephews who seemed to cling to him ever since they left the dungeons, just to ask a silly question about a language he wasn’t allowed to learn.

Instead, the next day, as they walked further along the path to Lake Town, Bilbo went to Balin. He made his way through the dwarrows to reach him, and unfortunately Balin was in the front of the march, and a bit too close to Thorin’s for Bilbo’s liking, just a few steps ahead. Still, he made his way until he was walking beside the older dwarf, who gave him a kind smile.

They walked in silence for a moment, with Bilbo occasionally glancing at Thorin’s back, and with Balin so politely waiting for him to say something. Bilbo cleared his throat, with a closed hand in front of his mouth, before glancing at Balin and then ahead again. He didn’t even know why was he so curious about the whole thing.

“I was- I heard a word in khuzdul, the other day, and I was hoping you could tell me what it meant,” Bilbo said, getting his fingers on his vest’s pockets, his tension fading a little as he brushed a fingertip on his magic ring.

“Glad to see you have an interest in our language,” Balin said, with a kind smile. “What word was it?”

On Thorin’s side, Dwalin looked over his shoulder at them, smirking a little, and turned to Thorin once more. Bilbo completely ignored it, but he still lowered his voice, leaning in, closer to Balin as he told him the word.

He looked at Balin carefully, hoping he hadn’t said anything insulting, despise Dwalin’s words the night before, and Balin had a curious reaction, where he blinked, looked at Bilbo for a moment, his mouth twitching as if holding back a smile, and then looked ahead, to his brother and Thorin. 

Oh dear.

“I probably shouldn’t say, laddie, but I have had enough with this foolishness.” Balin sighed, shaking his head, and Bilbo was more confused than ever.

“I beg our pardon?”

“Don’t you worry, laddie. If you’re still interested in our language, I advise you to talk to Thorin." 

When they made a small break for lunch, that day, Bilbo sat down a bit further from where the company had stopped, as he still didn’t quite felt brave enough to approach Thorin on the issue, even when the dwarf himself sat down beside him, on some rocks, and they ate their rations.

“I have not thanked you yet, Bilbo,” Thorin said, and if there was one thing that Bilbo really enjoyed since they got caught up by the Mirkwood elves was that now Thorin said his name, and it had been months since they’ve first met, and it came a little late, and yet it filled him up with warmth.

“What for?”

Thorin chuckled lightly. “For getting us out of that rotten place.”

“Oh, well. Don’t you worry about it, that was nothing.”

“Nothing? Master Burglar, you have gone beyond of your contract requirements, several times over.”

Bilbo glanced at him, and patted Thorin’s knee, wishing for his pipe, so he could get his hands busy during this conversation. “I’m not here because of a contract, Thorin Oakenshield. I’m here for you. And the Company,” he added, with a tilt of his head, and when he dared to look at Thorin again, it was to one of those soft smiles he seemed to aim at Bilbo ever since Carrock, and Bilbo hesitantly smiled back, not sure how exactly he managed to get those hard won smiles, but at the rate his heart went when he saw one, he was starting to fear heart attacks. “…I want to help you get your home.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin murmured, his name spoken as if it was something precious.

And Bilbo felt brave.

“…Thorin,” he said, retreating his hand from the other’s keen, after giving it a small squeeze. He was glad for the distance to the rest of the group, but he couldn’t quite look at the dwarf by his side at the moment anyway. “I... back in the dungeons, when I first found you. You said- well, you said something to me, in that secret language of yours, yes?”

Thorin was quiet by his side, his smile gone, but he kept his eyes on Bilbo, this time unreadable.

“And I want to know- what did it mean?”

“Nothing of your concern,” Thorin said sharply, moving to get up, but Bilbo was still feeling rather brave, so he put his hand back on Thorin’s knee, and the dwarf was much stronger than he was, and neither of them was foolish enough to think Bilbo’s weak hold of him would be enough to stop Thorin from doing anything.

And yet Thorin stayed.

“Well, I rather think it is,” Bilbo replied, leaving his hand where it was, warm against Thorin’s knee, his eyes on it for a moment, before he looked back at Thorin. “Because I’m very sure you weren’t referring to spider’s blood as your treasure.”

To his surprise, he saw Thorin’s cheeks getting rather rosy, before the dwarf king turned his head, hair falling over his shoulder to hide his face away, and the sight of it rather tugged on something within Bilbo’s chest.

“And, hm. I was—well. It doesn’t leave much else off than me, does it now?”

“Speak what you must and be done,” Thorin said, still facing away, tense.

To free the hand he didn’t have on Thorin’s knee, Bilbo put down his food, trying not to think of it as a waste. He spared the poor meal a glance.

“Now- I… I was rather hoping that was the case, you see,” Bilbo said, “it wouldn’t do any good for you to be that fond of spiders and their insides.” He patted Thorin’s knee.

Thorin stilled, and Bilbo couldn’t tell if he was hesitating or taking offence, so he waited for him to speak. “…do not mock me, Master Baggins,” he said in a low tone, but he didn’t seem overall mad, and if Bilbo was pushing his luck, he could even say that he sounded a bit amused.

“And...” Bilbo paused, puffing out, as he braced himself for what he had to say, “I don’t think you quite understand what you’ve done with me, Thorin Oakenshield. I was a proper hobbit, I’ll have you know. Stuck in my very fine home, and reading my books, and with no adventures around.”

Thorin glanced at him, listening. “…My apologies,” he said slowly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bilbo swatted at his knee, before resting his hand on it again, rubbing his thumb on its side in apology. “It turns out I was rather bored and lonely. And you have taken me into this dangerous world, and I don’t think I’ll quite fit in again, back in the Shire. I’m not the respectable hobbit I once was, and I won’t be very welcomed.”

Thorin finally turned to face him properly, frowning, “You will always have a home among us, Master Baggins,” he said, “Erebor is yours as well as ours, and shame be brought on those who’d not welcome you with open arms.”

Bilbo looked at him, surprised, and touched, by the strong reaction, and patted Thorin’s cheek with his free hand. “.. let me finish saying what I have to say, will you?”

And Thorin nodded, looking at him with a guarded expression, his mouth closed tightly as if he was holding something back.

“Good. Well,” and now Bilbo couldn’t quite look away from those blue eyes, which waited patiently for him to speak, with something akin to hope in them. “where was I?”

“You were explaining how I ruined your home for you,” Thorin said a bit dryly.

“You always have to be so dramatic,” Bilbo sighed, squeezing his knee. “You made me realize the kind of hobbit I could be, you’ve made me brave and foolish and loyal, Thorin, and you’ve shown me the world outside of the Shire. For you, I gladly left home and, well, you see,” Bilbo still couldn’t turn away, even as he felt his cheeks heat up, “the... the thing is, you’re rather like that for me. You know. A… treasu- oh goodness,” he muttered under his breath, his cheeks burning, and he looked down in embarrassment, rubbing his cheek, “you understand what I meant.”

He sneaked a look at Thorin, who seemed to have a somewhat lost expression on his face for a moment, tilting his head slightly, but a smile tugging on his lips none the less, and suddenly a smirk was playing at his lips, and he looked lost no more.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Master Burglar,” he said, a bit coyly, leaning in a bit, and goodness gracious, they were very close to each other, weren’t they? “You will have to explain it to me.”

And Bilbo hesitated only for a moment, before looking at Thorin in the eye, chin raised. He was a brave kind of hobbit, after all, even if his neighbours wouldn’t approve much of it. “ _Ghivashel_.”

There was a big hand on his cheek then, warm and calloused, and Bilbo leaned to the touch, not daring to close his eyes so he could see Thorin’s face break into a smile, his eyes shining as he looked all over Bilbo’s face, and now Bilbo didn’t have it in him to say another word, giving him a shaky smile.

The hand moved to the back of Bilbo’s head, and gently pulled him closer. Bilbo closed his eyes, his lips parting as he did so, and he was very sure a heart attack was on its way this time. But his lips didn’t meet Thorin’s, because the dwarf tilt his head to press his forehead on Bilbo’s, he opened his eyes to see what was going on, only to see Thorin’s peaceful face, his eyes closed, with a small smile.

Bilbo raised a hand of his own, pressing it to the side of Thorin’s neck, and closed his eyes again, leaning in. He relaxed against him, and they stayed like that for a few minutes, just holding on to each other as they were. Eventually Thorin started pulling back, murmuring, “Bilbo,” and then Bilbo felt he could speak again.

“Oh no, no, no, no,” he said, getting a hand deep in Thorin’s hair, pulling him back in, “I’m not quite done with you just yet.”

And he tilted his head, and pressed his mouth on Thorin’s. The dwarf made a small sound, still for a moment, and Bilbo pulled back, a sudden thought clicking with that reaction. 

“Oh dear,” he said, not quite meeting Thorin’s eyes, “don’t tell me you dwarves call treasure of treasures to your kin and it happens to be a quite platonic term and I just made a fool of myself.”

Thorin just looked at him, mouth open in shock, and he blinked once before he seemed to take in exactly what Bilbo had said, because then he started laughing, and it wasn’t fair at all, the way it started hoarse and low, and grew into a rumble, filling Bilbo’s chest with warmth and embarrassment. 

He reached for Bilbo again, but the hobbit swatted his hands away, his cheeks burning in shame, and tried to duck his head, out of Thorin’s hold. “Bilbo. Bilbo,” he said, his voice shaking with contained laughter, “look at me, _amrâlimê_.”

And Bilbo did, frowning, “Tell me that isn’t the dwarvish word for… for _pal_!”

Thorin laughed again, his voice booming, but he held back after seeing Bilbo’s affronted look, cupping his face with both hands and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “It means love of mine,” he said fondly, caressing Bilbo’s cheek with his thumb.

“Oh. Good,” Bilbo looked at him, slowly relaxing once more, and tilting his head slightly to lean into the touch, “... that’s rather more like it.”

Thorin chuckled lightly, under his breath, his fingers pressing into the hair on the back of Bilbo’s head in a rather pleasant way.

Bilbo brushed his fingers lightly on Thorin’s cheek, watching him close his eyes and press into the touch. “…well, and are you going to kiss me, or not?” he asked, his voice wavering a little despise himself.

And Thorin leaned in, doing just so, and it was a proper kiss this time, with gentle lips moving on his own, and Thorin’s beard pleasently scrapping on his face, and Bilbo’s hands were shaking slightly as he got his fingers tangled in Thorin’s hair, pulling him closer, and Thorin moved as Blbo pleased, tilting his head when the hobbit tugged him just so, muffling a low chuckle into the kiss, which Bilbo felt all the way down to his toes.

Bilbo was the one to press his forehead on Thorin’s this time, when they broke apart, closing his eyes as he tried to catch his breath and cool down his cheeks, curling his fingers into Thorin’s hair to stop them from shaking.

“Bilbo, _ibin abnâmul_...” he let out, just as breathless, his hands moving on Bilbo’s face, his hair, his shoulders, as if he couldn’t quite believe him to be there.

Bilbo gave him a pointed look, and Thorin didn’t even have the decency of looking sorry for going on again with words Bilbo didn’t know, but Bilbo couldn’t really hold it against him at the moment, not when Thorin touched him so gently.

“You know, I think a few lessons in khuzdul are in order,” he said, tilting his head to rub his nose on Thorin’s for a moment, his cheeks apparently quite content in staying so warm they felt like burning.

“Indeed,” Thorin murmured, before pulling him back in for another kiss, and really who’d have thought it’d be so easy to get acquainted with that language?

**Author's Note:**

> Ghivashel - treasure of treasures  
> Amrâlimê - love of me  
> Ibin abnâmul - beautiful gem
> 
> This is my first fic for The Hobbit fandom, and I hope to have done those two idiots justice. I've had the fic checked over on google docs, but that's as far as having it beta'd as it got (thank you so much for those who offered corrections!), so please do let me know of anything I should change (english isn't my first language, and a few things go over my head).
> 
> Thank you for reading it c:


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